


The Unexpected Temptation

by AnnetheCatDetective



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Food Kink, Idiots in Love, M/M, Technology, present day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 16:30:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18814699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective
Summary: The young men at Aziraphale's club have been fussing over his being 'lonely'. Sometimes, it's easier to give in than to keep arguing... he just hadn't expected things to go quite as they do.





	The Unexpected Temptation

    “Honestly, Mr. Fell.” Finn sighs at him from behind the bar, which is the last straw, it really is. He could withstand the others for so long, but now the combined weight of expectation is upon him from every one of the young men currently crowded about him at the bar, bartender included. “It’s not good for you to be so alone.”

 

    “I’m not alone.”

 

    “We don’t count.” Michael says quickly, and there’s a chorus of hums at that.

 

    “Of course you could ask Tony out…” Ted suggests.

 

    “No, no, you may put me on the Grindr.” Aziraphale says quickly. “Anthony and I are very good friends, and we will not be very good friends if I go and do a silly thing like that.”

 

    He does not approve of the looks they all exchange around him. So it goes… It’s not like he has to use it… and Ted does promise he can set it to look for friends and conversation only, and not anything sexual. Which… why even bother, he wonders, when he already belongs to a club for the purpose of having friends and conversation! But they seem to think that conversation might lead to other things.

 

    He is immediately confused by the whole thing.

 

    “What is a _tribe_?” He frowns.

 

    “You know. The sort of gay you are.”

 

    “The quiet sort, who doesn’t _grind_.” He says. He knows what a twink is, sort of, and a bear. He has been in the community a long time, though lately he’s let himself slip on keeping up with the lingo… He can guess a few others. He doesn’t think ‘geek’ is right-- they’ll expect him to like computers. But there’s not something that says ‘The Kind Of Gay Who Does Not Have Sex And Looks A Bit Like Your English Professor’. Oh, but there is… “Fem.”

 

    “Mr. Fell, no.”

 

    “Am I not?”

 

    “No.” Ted laughs, though not unkindly.

 

    “Oh.” Aziraphale’s frown deepens. He gets manicures. He’s been known to _swish_ a bit. He hasn’t worn heels since the turn of the twentieth century, at which time they were well out of fashion for men, but… well, they’d been good shoes and he’d made them last, and they’re no longer in good enough repair to wear out but they were so _darling_ … He supposes he no longer quite fits the definition, though there were times when he certainly had. Worn frills and lace past their cultural expiration date, proudly, because he liked to… he’s gotten into a rut with fashion since the turn of the century, hasn’t he?

 

    “Daddy.” Finn says, and the others all nod and hum approvingly.

 

    “Oh, but I don’t--” He starts, but they sound very sure. The last time he remembers the phrase meaning something other than ‘parent’, it had referred to a boyfriend. He supposes he is… well, he’s not looking for a boyfriend, but he does want to discourage the sorts of people who are looking for casual sex. Perhaps there might have been a time and place in his life when he would have entertained some conversation on the topic-- indeed, there were a few periods where in his own club, he could not help but be flirted with, before he became the figure they currently know and love, but…

 

    Well. Nowadays it’s all men sending you intimate photographs and acronyms, and there’s no romance to it, he doesn’t care to bother. It doesn’t flatter the way it used to!

 

    He insists upon being honest about his body type, to which they make no argument. If it drives away a few would-be intimate photographs, all the better.

 

    He clicks ‘vers’, to much amusement from young men who would have no idea his proclivities or past experience with having and utilizing genitalia or not. He doesn’t think that’s quite fair, really. Nor does he think it matters what he is, when he’s not looking for sex, but… well.

 

    They pass his phone around a fair bit, and take a dizzying number of photographs from different angles, none of which he wants to use.

 

    The one that shows off a three quarter view of his arse, with a fair glimpse of thigh, as he’d had his foot propped up on the rail at the bar… he thinks sends quite the wrong message. However, he has been sniggered at enough for one day and does not want to admit he has no idea how to change it, so the picture stands.

 

    “This is such a confusing profile.” He sighs.

 

    “It was always going to be, though.” Michael pats his shoulder consolingly. “Look, just chat with people, it won’t much matter in the end, you’ll find some new friends and have a good time. And maybe--”

 

    “Yes, yes. I _won’t_ , but thank you.”

 

    He doesn’t intend to use it at all, but he’s just… sitting there, at his usual table, with  his usual wine, and his phone is _there_. And it wouldn’t hurt…

 

    He dismisses a couple of rather rude gentlemen, and exchanges polite hellos with a couple of friendlier ones. One older man who also seemed to only be interested in talking to people, to be less bored and alone, and one younger one he suspects of being more _interested_ , but… well, _polite_ about it. Interesting enough for a bit of back and forth, not in his geographic area, so not pursuing anything from him. A couple others from farther away, and the lads leaning over his shoulder encourage his being friendly, but don’t hoot and holler over it, which is nice.

 

    That is, not until…

 

    _Crowley_. What is he even doing on this site-- or… app, or-- whatever? Those are his absolutely inhuman abdominal muscles. He has had the gall to label himself a ‘twink’.

 

    What Aziraphale would like to say is ‘You are over six thousand years old, you are not a twink’. Or possibly ‘What are you doing on Grindr, you wicked beast, you corrupting influence’. But…

 

    Right now, they could be anybody, couldn’t they? Oh, he _knows_ it’s Crowley… but would Crowley know it was him?

 

    “He’s not far from here.” Ted says.

 

    “He’s _sexy_.” Michael adds. “Tell him he’s sexy.”

 

    _My friend thinks_ , Aziraphale begins typing, but Michael snatches his phone away and erases the words.

 

    When the phone is returned, Aziraphale sees the message with some horror.

 

    _Hey, sexy_.

 

    “Oh no.” He groans. He very almost says something else, which has been harder not to say ever since he let it slip out during the end of the world.

 

    _Oh, hi, Daddy_ , Crowley responds.

 

    _I am sorry, my friend wrote that. He no doubt thought he was being funny. I meant to say something polite._ He types, and then erases it. No, Crowley might be ready to believe he is someone else, but not if he types all that out.

 

    _That was my friend, sorry. Not that I wasn’t going to say hello, he just thought I was taking too long about it_.

 

    _As long as we’re talking now. What are you doing?_

 

He can’t do this. He can’t. How do normal people say things? Does Crowley know, does he suspect? He can’t, can he? Surely there are plenty of Ezras on Grindr! Surely he wouldn’t look at words like ‘vers’ and ‘daddy’ and think ‘oh, that’s my friend Aziraphale, angel of the Lord, trawling a telephone application meant to facilitate gay sex between strangers’.

 

    _Just out having a drink with the lads._ Aziraphale writes. There, that’s normal. Very human. _They signed me up. You_?

 

    _Lying in bed, bored. Just looking for someone to talk to ;)_

 

    _Well, conversation is what I’m here for_. Aziraphale says. That’s nice and safe. And yet… the mental image of Crowley lying in bed… Silk sheets and silk pyjamas… He knows Crowley’s style, he can imagine the luxury, the focus on physical pleasure. He’s favoring that ultramodern aesthetic at present, even though Aziraphale knows he likes adornment. But that’s not what the human Anthony Crowley likes, and so Crowley goes without much of that, he gets his luxury in other ways.

 

    They exchange a few more messages, innocent despite Crowley’s flirtatious tone.

 

    Aziraphale fully expects to be teased, when they meet up for lunch. To be asked why he’d let his friends get him on Grindr in the first place, to laugh at the fact that one of them thought he was sexy. None of that happens. Crowley is his usual self for the most part. His attention wanders only slightly, but he tells his usual stories and he’s very attentive, pushes his dessert Aziraphale’s way and watches him eat the way he always does.

 

    He likes food, Crowley does. He loves taste and texture and variety. He lacks Aziraphale’s constitution for it, though, always gets sleepy after too much of a meal. He likes to see it enjoyed, and Aziraphale hates to see it go to waste, so they’re a perfect match at the dining table.

 

    Well.

 

    Aziraphale likes to enjoy it.

 

    Maybe he’s gotten away with it, or maybe Crowley took it as a performance he’d had to put on for the humans he’d been out with and politely ignored it, but either way…

 

    Either way, he should definitely _not_ message him again that evening from his own bed.

 

    Which is exactly what he does. He blames the Armageddon-That-Wasn’t. Ever since the world didn’t end, he’s found it so much easier to miss Crowley. Even when they’ve only seen each other that day, he finds himself wanting to talk to him again. He doesn’t need to have anything to _say_ , he just wants to see him.

 

    _Hello_. He greets. Either Crowley would treat him like just somebody, or he would ask him why he wasn’t just texting him. His stomach ties itself in knots as he waits to see which.

 

    _Hey. Out with the lads again_?

 

    _No. Home in bed with a good book. It’s not capturing my attention for some reason_.

 

    Was that right or wrong? If Crowley knows it’s him, he’d guessed he was being made to look for companionship by his other friends again. The admission that he’s failing to focus on one of his books would be seen as odd indeed, and the fact that he isn’t simply calling him-- not even texting, calling, he doesn’t really text-- would be even odder. Worse, if he thinks Aziraphale is some strange versatile daddy named Ezra by complete coincidence, he’ll assume the mention of being in bed is… sexual.

 

    Which it isn’t!

 

    _I can capture your attention ;)_

 

    Oh no.

 

    _I’m sure you can. What are you doing tonight_? Aziraphale sees himself typing the words, but it doesn’t feel like him. It can’t be him.

 

    _Oh, I’m being naughty tonight._

 

    _A usual occurrence for you, I’m sure_.

 

    _That’s right, Daddy_. Crowley answers, and then the picture shows up.

 

    Aziraphale’s heart stops for a moment before it loads properly. His television-- whatever the program is, Aziraphale wouldn’t know, but it’s something colorful-- and in the foreground, a hand holding a pint of ice cream, resting against a silk-clad thigh.

 

    Aziraphale knows he’s eating two bites and using his powers to keep it from melting so he doesn’t have to walk back to the freezer-- or using them to pop it back into its place-- but… well, no, better this than what he’d thought…

 

    _Looks like a nice evening_.

 

    _I know. Too bad I haven’t got a man to join me._

 

    He could do, that’s the thing that really tears at him. If he’d only gotten in touch with him properly and said ‘I’m bored and lonely’, he’d be there eating the rest of Crowley’s ice cream and letting him explain why television is not rubbish. All silly flirting aside, he could have invited himself over with a bottle of wine and…

 

    But he didn’t.

 

    _Pic4pic_? Crowley adds.

 

    _What_?

 

_Show me what you’re reading_.

 

    Oh. Well, that’s perfectly innocent. He gets a close-up of the page.

 

    Then he realizes he’s cuddled up with _Ars Goetia_.

 

    _And I thought I was naughty. Summoning demons_?

 

_Maybe. It’s such a dull night_. He types, then erases it. He erases _Just one_ as well.

 

    _I mostly think it’s more silly than real_. He answers instead. Some very ridiculous notions about how demons work, though here and there there are certainly things he’s heard are true from Crowley, and a few things he knows to be accurate just from his own limited experience with less pleasant demons

 

    _How many are in that edition_?

 

 _69_.

 

    _Nice_. Crowley says, and throws in several winky faces for some reason. Why he should be so enthusiastic over it, Aziraphale could not say. He isn’t in either edition. He waits for him to point out that Volac is-- as he usually puts it-- a dick, and when that doesn’t happen, he realizes Crowley must not be sure of his identity. He doesn’t go on his usual rant about Botis, either.

 

    _It’s an interesting topic, silly or not. Well, most nights._

 

_Believe me, I’m flattered to be more interesting than the Ars Goetia_.

 

    _I’ll bet_ , Aziraphale does not write. He steels himself, and he sends a winky face of his own.

 

    _What would you do with me if you were here_? Crowley asks.

 

    _I would ask about sharing that ice cream_. Aziraphale answers.

 

    _Nice, nice_ . _I would share it with you_.

 

    Well… Aziraphale knows that. He doesn’t know how he feels about looking at those little words, though. Crowley can’t be sure it’s him, so… why is he talking about sharing desserts? And why does the idea upset him so much?

 

    _Do you share your sweets with very many men_?

 

    _I’ll be honest, I don’t so much meet up in person. So not really. But you can ask for pics if you want them._

 

    Aziraphale feels relief, confusion. He’d have been _hurt_ , he realizes, if Crowley was meeting strange men and feeding them dessert. That’s what _they_ do-- not only dessert, but… but… Crowley can flirt with strangers on an app if he likes, he supposes it’s part of his job, inciting lust and all, but eating together is _their_ thing! He finishes Crowley’s food, and Crowley tastes his, not-- not strange Grindr men! But he’s already seen a picture of the ice cream in question and can easily refer back to it, so he’s not sure why he should need more pictures.

 

    _If you like. Maybe the next time you settle in for a lonely night with something like that, you can show me, and I can talk about how I’m very jealous not to be sharing it with you._

 

    _If you’ll do the same. But I’ll give you this one for free_.

 

    It’s the same view, except this time the angle’s different. Less of Crowley’s television appears in the background, and the focus is not on the ice cream, but on the fact that he is obviously tenting his pyjama pants.

 

    Aziraphale has seen Crowley _naked_ and been unmoved. Why this should make him feel flushed…

 

    _You’ve certainly given me something to think about_. He says.

 

    _Just ensuring you have some sweet dreams. Next time you’re so bored you’re thinking of summoning demons, you come and talk to me about dessert instead_.

 

    Not much of an instead. He waits for some joke about how all the demons in the book are bores anyhow, or not as handsome, or something, and doesn’t know what to feel when it doesn’t come.

 

    He wishes Crowley a good night and puts his phone in the drawer.

 

    He does not indulge in this awful new amusement the next day, but the day after, he’s sitting alone in his favorite cafe, and he ought to just ask Crowley to join him there, but he doesn’t. He opens the app, and he sends him a picture of his dessert.

 

    A moment later, he gets a response.

 

    _Describe it to me_. A very Crowley sentiment. He often asks, even when it’s a thing he’s had a taste of himself. Is avid in his interest in food he doesn’t eat.

 

    _It’s better than sex_. Aziraphale tells him. He sends a second picture of his spoon coated in melted chocolate. _Look at that._

 

    _Oh fuck yes_

 

_It’s utterly decadent. Rich, smooth chocolate, molten. Sweet, but if you let it linger on your tongue you really get the fullness of it. The cup is also chocolate._

 

_How is the cup also chocolate? How does the cup not melt_?

 

_I don’t know! Science, I don’t wonder._

 

_Right_ Crowley says. _Are you taking your time with it_? _Letting it linger_?

 

_It really is the only way_. Aziraphale tells him, doing just that.

 

    _Licking it off the spoon_?

 

_Yes._

 

_Hot_

 

    He supposes it is, or was. Warmish, at least. _Yes_. He says.

 

    _Show me more_.

 

    After a couple of bites more, he takes another picture, the spoon licked almost-clean, the streaks of chocolate. He describes the mouthfeel a little more, as he lets it sit on his tongue, how thick and how slick.

 

    _It would absolutely make you sick to try to finish it, but in the most satisfying way_. He adds. He thinks Crowley would enjoy the novelty of taking a bite out of the cup, but he’s sure he’d turn down the melted inside.

 

    _Are you going to finish_?

 

    _Of course I am._

 

_It isn’t too much_?

 

_I’ve built up something of a capacity for chocolate_. He admits. He shouldn’t have to, he should talk to Crowley normally, Crowley knows he can eat. Crowley should know that it’s him. But…

 

    If Crowley knew, would he not send pictures? Would he be upset? He ought to be, he’d never send Aziraphale a picture of himself in that state, it’s… unfair.

 

    But it’s not as if either of them are sexual beings, are they?

 

    Well… he’d felt a bit like one when Crowley had shown him the picture. He feels a bit like one now.

 

    _Hot_ Crowley says.

 

_Any kind._

 

He doesn’t want to be a stranger, he thinks, because Crowley shouldn’t do this with strangers. Oh, it’s one thing if he wants to read foodie blogs and watch television programs and ask waiter recommendations, but soliciting descriptions from men on Grindr, strange men, when…

 

    When this is _theirs_!

 

    How did he ever get into a position where he’s jealous of _himself_?

 

    He takes another picture when the cup is nearly empty, a genteel nibble taken from the rim, and he describes the difference in taste and texture, how slowly the firm chocolate melts in his mouth… the delight of it, how the whole dish invites decadent slowness. _Leisure_.

 

    _Tell me when you get home and I’ll show you something_. Crowley promises.

 

    Aziraphale, terrible hypocrite that he is, polishes off the cup with haste that he might return home and ask to be shown.

 

    This time, there are no pyjamas.

 

    Separately, he gets a personal text from Crowley, a normal text, inviting him to dinner.

 

    He’s not sure how he’s going to survive.

 

    He says yes, of course. Crowley insists upon taking him for sushi, insists in particular upon the raw tuna marrow with ponzu sauce, a delicacy which is not on the usual menu and which Aziraphale suspects some demonic influence of having been involved in bringing to their table, and he can _feel_ the way Crowley watches him.

 

    “We could go somewhere else.” Crowley suggests after. “For dessert, if you like.”

 

    “I don’t know, dear, I’ve had a very decadent day as it is…”

 

    “Or back to mine for drinks.”

 

    Aziraphale thinks about the ice cream he knows is in the freezer. His stomach feels suddenly quite small. “Next time."

 

    There’s a moment where he thinks Crowley might protest ending the evening so soon, a desperate, clawing moment, but he only walks him to the car and drives him home. Stopped before the bookshop, though, something hangs in the air between them, something that keeps Aziraphale getting out of the car.

 

    “There’s something I should tell you. You-- It’s very silly, but-- I mean, something I thought I would tell you, because it’s so silly.” He says. Why should Crowley know he recognized him right away? Suppose he merely says that he’s on the app at all, and… suppose he pretends to have never given Crowley’s naked body enough heed to know him?

 

    “Aziraphale, there’s something I need to tell you.” Crowley says at the exact same time. “I’ve been feeling weird about it-- guilty about it-- Well, why I should be! But I have been so I think we should talk.”

 

    “Er. Inside?”

 

    He nods, grateful. Aziraphale pours them each a glass of wine, as they settle into their usual seats in his back room.

 

    “You go first.” He says.

 

    “Oh.” Crowley takes a _gulp_. “Me first. Okay. Well… there’s… someone. I mean-- I’ve… Look, you know what my job is! And we’ve never been weird about the job, not for a thousand bloody years, so I don’t need to explain myself to you, or--”

 

    “No, dear, certainly not.”

 

    “Well, I don’t expect you to understand hook-up apps, all right? But, you know. You get the gist.”

 

    “I do get the gist.” Aziraphale nods.

 

    “So I use them to spread demonic wiles.”

 

    “More than one?” He frowns.

 

    “Yeah…? So, you know. Nothing personal on my end. A few thirst trap pictures, some flirty messages. No real hooking up, just… I mean, look, my vessel’s just my vessel, pictures of it are what they are, you get that, yeah?”

 

    “I suppose.”

 

    “And I don’t feel anything about _work_. This is stupid, I don’t even know why I’m telling you…”

 

    “I’m on one of them.” Aziraphale blurts out.

 

    “What?”

 

    “I’m on one of those apps. Grindr.”

 

    “ _What_?”

 

    “It isn’t my doing! It’s the young ones, you know, they think I’m lonely. And then when I tried to say I wasn’t interested, they suggested-- Well. Of course I’ve tried to tell them I’m not at all lonely, but they’ve got me on there chatting with strange men. And-- erm, very strange… very strange…”

 

    Crowley slowly takes his phone out. Aziraphale wishes he would take his glasses off already, so that he could have a better idea of what he might be thinking. Slowly, Crowley types something, and hits send. Aziraphale closes his eyes, drawing his own phone out.

 

    “Aziraphale.”

 

    “Yes.”

 

    “Did I send you pictures of my _dick_?”

 

    “It’s very nice?”

 

    “It’s _very_ nice, yes! I know it is! It’s a custom job, it’s exquisite! That’s hardly the point!”

 

    “I wasn’t sure. I wanted to talk to you, because-- Well, because I understood immediately, of course, that this must be… work, for you. And it had been a friend of mine who’d first messaged you about your-- yes. And so after you sent that picture, I thought I ought to say ‘by the way, Crowley, if that’s you, you ought to know you can’t seduce me with pictures of an erection, as I am an angel’, only then we were in a nice restaurant and I _couldn’t_ talk about erections there!”

 

    “I should have known.” He groans, pulling off his glasses to scrub a hand over his face. “Bloody _Ars Goetia_ , whose idea of light bedtime reading is that? Wait…” He frowns and scrolls a bit. “You knew it was me, you saw my flat.”

 

    “Your flat is hardly distinctive. Not the bits in that shot. I mean, I did know. I was waiting for you to say something catty about other demons and then we would laugh about it, and instead you showed me your…” Aziraphale gestures to his lap. “And then I didn’t know what to say.”

 

    “How about ‘Hello, dear, it’s me, sorry to bother you at work’?”

 

    “You didn’t need to send a second one!”

 

    “You-- _You_ \--” Crowley gets to his feet, pacing and tugging at his hair.

 

    “I don’t see how it’s a problem I’ve seen it, if you go about showing it to other people.”

 

    “... It doesn’t bother you?”

 

    Aziraphale shakes his head. “Work is work. As you’ve said, it’s only pictures of your vessel, it isn’t…”

 

    It isn’t real. The other thing is real.

 

    “Right. Right. And even if it-- I mean, it’s not like you have any reason to… have opinions about who I… show things to.”

 

    “It is very nice, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you so at the time. You are not a twink, though.”

 

    “Oi! I am so. You’re not a daddy!”

 

    “I didn’t ask to be daddy! They decided it for me.”

 

    “You’re not vers, either.” Crowley adds.

 

    “I beg your pardon? I most certainly could be!”

 

    “Six thousand years I’ve known you, you’re not.”

 

    “And what makes you say that? You haven’t been… _schtupping_ me for six thousand years! You don’t know!”

 

    “Who opens the doors? And pays for dinners? And drives?” Crowley starts counting items off, while Aziraphale gapes and flounders for an argument. “Who buys the presents?”

 

    “We both do, at times.”

 

    “Who does it more?”

 

    “You, when you’re trying to buy my forgiveness.”

 

    “And it works!” He says, triumphant. “Your picture is of your arse, how is that what a vers man would do?”

 

    “I didn’t choose that, either.”

 

    “I should have known, I should have recognized your arse.” Crowley grumbles to himself. “Here I am trying to… And all along, you--!”

 

    “I’m sorry I didn’t say something. I’ve been feeling simply awful about it, really.” Aziraphale steps forward, cautious. He fully expects Crowley to blow over any upset quickly, but he wants it to be because he genuinely feels Aziraphale has made amends, not because he’s afraid to push away his only constant companion over the millennia.

 

    He doesn’t expect Crowley to kiss him.

 

    “Oh.” Aziraphale touches his lips. They feel slightly bruised, and the rest of him doesn’t know how to feel. Like he’s just sat down to a table with an array of very decadent desserts, and Crowley is watching. “My dear, your forgiving nature is truly… truly a gift.”

 

    “Demons aren’t forgiving.” Crowley frowns, but not for very long. “However… they could be _moved_ to be, in exchange for getting what they really want. Say… to take you out for dessert sometime?”

 

    Aziraphale thinks he’s finally found the thread he needs to tug, to unravel the mystery behind this particular feeling.

 

    “Tomorrow?” He smiles. “I might take you to a cafe I like. You can ask them how they do the chocolate cup.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Unexpected Temptation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19844041) by [Literarion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Literarion/pseuds/Literarion)




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